


A 'Natural Progression

by MeriKG



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriKG/pseuds/MeriKG
Summary: Dean's foray into comfortably bisexual takes a while.  Good thing he has some divine help to speed things along.A series of chapters taking us through the possible evolution of Destiel.  First chapter has a warning for underage.  After that, fun smut and too much dialogue.  Suspiciously angst free.





	1. Once

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning for chapter one, mention of underage. No graphic depictions**
> 
> Young Dean (15yrs) makes a tough choice and John doesn't handle it well. At all.

He only did it once. 

Of course his father found out. Not much got past John Winchester. And in John’s defense, he didn’t blame Dean, not really. He blamed himself. Which was so much worse. Blaming Dean, or even Sam, for the choices they’d made meant a spanking, cold treatment for a time, or worse of all, making it clear he was disappointed. 

When he blamed himself, especially when the situation resulted in one of his kids being hurt, well, John reacted…strongly, in the only way he knew how. He asserted control of what he could, and handled the situation. 

It was too late to prevent it from happening in the first place; John didn’t own a time machine. All that was left to him was damage control. The first thing he did was hunt down the rat bastard and put a bullet between his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to kill a human, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it was the first time he’d done it without a shred of regret.

That unpleasantness taken care of, John moved on to the next order of business. He had to talk to Dean; make sure nothing like this so much as entered the boy’s skull for a single second ever again. And because he blamed himself, because guilt and anger were riding him, he wasn’t gentle. He didn’t think about what he would say before he spoke. And he wasn’t remotely kind.

He should hold out until he could stash young Sam somewhere safe, he knew that, give it time until the fierce, terrible anger in him settled a bit. But as far as he was concerned, this couldn’t wait that long.

He returned from his first deliberant human hunt a day later, calm and collected. Intent on doing this right. But when he walked in the door and looked his fifteen-year-old son in the eye, Dean flinched from him. And all that hard-won calm went right out the fucking window.

“Outside. Now.” 

Dean swallowed. “Yes, Sir.’’ He nearly bolted out the door in his haste.

John walked over to where his youngest looked up at him with solemn eyes. Sam couldn’t know about this. John wouldn’t allow it to poison him. And if that was pure selfishness on his part, well, he never claimed to be anything like perfect.

He crouched down so that they were eye to eye. “I have to go have a talk with your brother, Sammy. It’s really important that you stay inside until we get back. Okay?”

Sam nodded. “Is Dean in trouble?”

“Not exactly. But something bad happened and I have to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Okay? Your brother is fine; we are all fine.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed, gaze troubled. Sammy was so smart. Too smart, sometimes. But there was nothing else John could say to reassure his boy, and he still had Dean to deal with. Soul heavy, he walked out, securing the door behind him.

Dean was leaning against the brick wall by the door, his arms crossed defensively across his chest, a stubborn look on his face. And John saw red. 

Grabbing Dean by the scruff of his shirt, he hauled the teen behind the motel building, slamming him against the concrete wall between a broken ice machine and a dumpster, well hidden from prying eyes.

Dean had automatically spun with the momentum so he hit the wall with his back, facing forward. He looked up into John’s eyes and swallowed. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry? That’s all you have to say? What in the hell were you thinking?”

Dean stiffened at the accusatory tone, standing straighter. At fifteen, the seeds of stubborn rebellion were beginning to really set in. And Dean was John’s son through and through. The boy may strive to please his father, but he would never be a doormat, either. Something John tended to forget.

“What was I thinking? I was thinking that we ran out of food three days ago, Dad! This motel is in the middle of nowhere. The credit card you left us was dead. I was thinking that I couldn’t keep pressing my luck stealing from the only gas station within walking distance. Eventually I’d get nabbed again.” 

“School provides…” John began, but was interrupted. 

“School got out over a week ago! You’ve been gone for eleven days, and you weren’t answering your phone. Just leaving vague messages about another delay. Sam needed to eat, the motel wanted some money so they didn’t evict us and I don’t look old enough to get a job. Even if I could find something, that would mean leaving my brother alone all day by himself. And you ordered me to stay close and protect Sam.”

Dean swallowed, a teenage male fighting back tears, clinging to his pride.

“What was I supposed to do, Dad? Huh? It’s not like I didn’t know what I was doing; I know you saw me under the bleachers with Monty last month. I figured, why not? Two hundred bucks, that’s what that guy offered me. More than enough money to hold us over ‘till you got back. And for what, twenty minutes work?”

Rage. More pain then he could remember feeling since he’d held Sammy cold and near death in his arms, it felt like watching his house burn with his wife inside all over again. His son had been hurt doing something terrible because John hadn’t been there.

He surged forward and slammed Dean back against the wall, gripping him hard by his arms. He didn’t realize in his anger that he was leaving bruises, and Dean didn’t complain about the too-tight hold. 

“I don’t care what you have to do. Knock over a gas station, pick freaking pockets. You will not allow a man touch you again. Not like that. Do you understand me?” He demanded, voice ice-cold. 

Dean’s eyes widened. “Dad…”

“No. Never again. You’re a Winchester, Dean. You will act like it. Winchesters do not do that. No son of mine pulls that shit, do you understand me?” 

Dean blanched, shame a red flush across his too-pale face. “Yes, sir.” 

“I mean it, Dean. I don’t want to discover anything like that ever again.” 

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“Now, go get your brother and pack up the car. It’s time to leave.”

Dean nodded. As he turned to walk away, John grabbed his arm one more time. “Be honest with me. Are you hurt, son? Do I need to take you to a doctor?”

Eyes downcast, Dean shook his head. “No, sir.”

John had to force himself to ask the next question. “Tell me he wore a condom. That you did that much to stay safe.”

“I was safe.” 

John sighed. He pulled his boy into a fierce hug. “He’s gone, Dean. Dead and buried where no one’s gonna find him for a good long while. No man touches you like that, you hear? They try it and they’re dead.” Feeling Dean stiffen in his arms, John let go. He’d offered all the reassurance he could at this point. 

“You won’t breathe a word of this to your, brother. He doesn’t need to know what you did.”

Dean nodded, gaze fixed on the ground. “Yes, sir.”

He watched Dean walk away. The boy was right about one thing. John had seen him necking in the bleachers, hardly a new thing for a horny teenager. But he’d been gobsmacked when he realized Dean’s tonsil-hockey buddy had turned out to be another boy. 

John was old school enough, and retired military to boot, to not approve, but he’d let it slide. Figured it was harmless, a phase or something. Dean was a young man dealing with an onslaught of new hormones and a little experimenting was normal at that age. Maybe he shouldn’t have been okay with it; maybe if he’d nipped it in the bud then and there Dean wouldn’t have thought to get money the way he did. Regardless, it was too late now. All they could do was go forward.

When he came around the corner, Dean was loading their duffel bags in the trunk of the Impala, Sam handing him the lighter loads. He didn’t know what Dean had said to his little brother, but Sammy was laughing, no sign of his earlier concerns evident. 

Dean looked up and briefly caught John's eye, the glint of humor fading before he pasted on a smile and bent back down to murmur something to his brother that made Sam laugh again. At least John had one kid he hadn’t screwed up. 

He turned back into the motel to help the boys pack. Next town they stopped at he’d find a pool hall and dedicate some time teaching Dean how to work a table. The boy had a sharp eye and excellent coordination; it wouldn’t take long to teach him some tricks. Hustling wasn’t ideal, but it would get him by in a pinch. If Dean was careful and didn’t get greedy, he’d manage fine.  
\-------------

As he’d been ordered, Dean never spoke about what had happened, not to Sam or anyone else. He’d never seen his father that angry with him in his life. And he wanted so badly to be a son that John Winchester could be proud of. It was clear that his dad wouldn’t want him if he knew how much Dean liked kissing boys. So he didn’t. It wasn’t that hard.

It wasn’t like he’d wanted to do anything with that trucker. And it was just a blowjob, no matter what his dad seemed to think. And the man hadn’t hurt him or anything. He’d gotten his rocks off; given Dean the money as promised and left. 

Sure, Dean didn’t like how it made him feel, but there were a lot of things they did on the road that he didn’t like. He didn’t like killing. Especially when they looked really human. But you did what you had to do when you were a Hunter. And he did what he had to do to make sure Sammy was okay. That was his job.

And really, girls were just fine. Soft and curvy in all the right ways, and that sweet taste of sugary lip balm in every kiss; it just did things to him. But Monty had been nice, too. Strong, firm in interesting places. So many things you didn’t have to say to another guy, cuz they were right there with you. They just got it. He missed that part. Missed holding someone who could hold him back just as hard.

The next time a guy looked him over with that speculative gleam, Dean shut him down hard. The other teen hadn’t meant any harm, and honestly, Dean had probably been looking first, the jock was a really hot guy. But what would happen if he tried something and his dad found out? Dean didn’t want the other kid to get hurt, and he couldn’t stand the thought of his father being disappointed in him. 

So he took Sally from the cheerleading squad to the movies that night. And she was perfect. And then there was Jenni, and Trish. 

If he tried really hard, he could forget about the way Nate from the track team had smiled at him.


	2. That Damn Itch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's all grown up. Fresh from the underworld, went to Hell and back and all he got was this lousy handprint. And things are already complicated. Sounds about right for a Winchester. 
> 
> Angels, amiright? Can't live with 'em, can't bang 'em. Well, shouldn't, anyway.

Oh, Fuck.

Not just fuck. Fucking hellfire and brimstone, 76 bloody trombones level of fuck. Because one look in those gorgeous blue peepers and Dean was a gonner. Bag and tag him, gut him, and stick him in the oven for Thanksgiving dinner, because he was DONE. And the dude was a fucking Angel of all things. What was he even supposed to do with that? A week ago he hadn’t known that angels were a thing. 

Dean absently reached up and pressed his palm against the red handprint seared into the flesh of his shoulder. He swore it pulsed beneath his fingers in response. 

When he’d first laid eyes on the thing that they’d summoned, the Angel, he’d sworn he felt a familiar energy rolling around in his flesh just beneath the brand. And when he’d finally appeared before them, Dean had felt the truth of it all. Submerged beneath all the sparks and fancy winged shadow-puppet show, Dean had known with instinctive and absolute certainty that the mark on his shoulder belonged to this being. 

It had been indescribably creepy, and stabbing the critter really seemed like the only thing to do. Especially after it had knocked Bobby out cold with a touch. Not that the demon blade, the greatest weapon in their arsenal, had done him a lick of good at the time. Dean wasn’t even sure an Angel could be killed. Maybe if they still had the Colt. 

Dean downed the rest of his beer in one gulp, desperately trying not to think. It didn’t work. He sighed, gazing longingly around the empty room for something, anything to hold his attention. It was a fruitless endeavor; there wasn’t shit for distractions in the crappy motel room. Sam was out, doing whatever the hell he did these days. Dean had quit asking when all he got back was lies. 

Fuck it. 

Grabbing his jacket and taking a quick glance in the mirror to make sure he was presentable, he ducked out the door. He was looking a little rough around the edges, but still, pretty damn good for a man who’d only recently dug his way out of his own grave. 

Dean didn’t do this often. He was self aware enough to know his reticence came from good ol’ Winchester conditioning, and there was nothing really wrong with wanting what he did. He had absolutely zero issues with dudes doing dudes. As far as he was concerned, anyone who was a consenting adult should get theirs any way they wanted and good for them. As long as the ‘dude’ in question wasn’t him. Which, he was all too aware, was a fucked up viewpoint. 

It was the shame of it, the echo in the back of his mind of his father’s scathing voice, that Winchesters didn’t do this kind of thing, like it was fundamentally wrong or something. And that wasn’t fair. He knew that, too. Of course, all that knowing didn’t do a damn thing to help quiet the voice of condemnation in the back of his mind. 

But sometimes he couldn’t help himself. Okay, not completely true. Maybe he just didn’t want to help himself. What he did want was to get laid, and he wanted to do it with another man. Top, bottom, sideways. Didn’t matter to him. Because he’d be sneaking out in a flood of self-recrimination as soon as it was over no matter how things went down. 

A guy had to use some modicum of caution when picking up another dude in a bar. There was a protocol that had to be observed, for several reasons. For starters, it was the polite thing to do. But really, it was about safety. Not that he personally had anything to worry about; no matter where Dean went, he was always the most dangerous person in the room. But he didn’t want to blow anyone’s cover, either. The folk who lived in the town might have no desire to be outed to their friends and neighbors. Dean had no business making that choice for them. So he watched for the signs and played by the rules. 

Occasionally another man balls out came on to him, brazen as hell. It took Dean by surprise every damn time. He didn’t much know how to handle open appreciation like that. Sometimes he was suave; more often he turned stammery and tried to find a manly yet polite way to back away. But when he was specifically on the prowl for some guy on guy time, all bets were off. Confused, uncomfortable Dean was nowhere to be found. 

Fortunately, the town they were currently planted in sported a thriving gay bar so he didn’t have to worry about the secret handshake, which ear had an earring, any of that subtle crap. $20 slipped to the motel clerk bought him an address. Once there, it didn’t take him long to find a buddy. 

Men were always so much easier to pick up than women. He was pretty good looking and apparently gave off a tough guy aura that gay men found intensely appealing. That’s what he’d been told by his partner the first time he strayed back into the gayborhood, anyway. And it usually seemed to be true.

Whatever the case, finding a partner at The Jolly Roger who was interested in doing the horizontal mambo with him didn’t take long. Dude even paid for their drinks. He was good-looking guy, too. 6’1, built, with an open face that hid nothing. Exactly what Dean had been looking for. Dean didn’t bother with finding accommodations for them. He’d parked the Impala far away in a dark corner for a reason. 

His enthusiastic new friend was plenty willing to get bent over the hood of the sleek muscle car and be taken hard. A little intense necking to get the ol’ juices flowing and wham-bam-thank-you-man, they were done. A quick kiss to seal the deal, and the man left; slightly dazed, with a dopey smile on his face. 

Dean waited in the lot, watching from the driver’s seat of the Impala to ensure the guy made his way safely back into the bar. A group of the dude’s friends eagerly met him at the entrance, with high fives all around. Dean grinned to himself, turning the car back the way he’d come. 

Barely two hours after he’d first left and Dean was back in his hotel showering off the whole encounter. Surprise; Sam still wasn’t back. 

Damn, but he’d needed that. Alec really had been the perfect diversion. And for the first time in maybe forever, he didn’t feel even a little guilty. Weird. Maybe it was all that time trapped in Hell. Regardless, he wasn’t going to overthink the gift horse.

Freshly showered, Dean sat down on his bed. He glanced down at the crumpled napkin on the floor. Alec had boldly slipped it into Dean’s back pocket with a saucy wink and a fond pat. His phone number, of course. They always gave Dean their number. With a sigh of regret, he scooped the napkin up, rolled it into a tight ball and lobbed it into the trashcan across the room. Rim shot. 

There. Done. Itch officially scratched. Now maybe he could get the haunting blue gaze of that freaking Castiel creature out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait? Wasn't smut promised in this story? Destiel smut, at that. Well, if you insist.


	3. Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward a while. Dean and Sam have gone their separate ways (briefly), what with Sam betraying his brother for some damn demon. Smoking hot or not, that just was not okay. And the whole letting Satan out. Not exactly awesome.
> 
> Castiel is looking for God. And he wants to use an archangel to further this goal. Wait, what? Didn't one of those things blow him to little tiny angel bits not that long ago? Looks like it's Dean's turn to play wingman for a change. 
> 
> (Circa 5.3 Free To Be You and Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during episode 5.3, Free To Be You and Me

Nope. 

Dean was not going to do it. No way. He’d held out this long and wasn’t going to break now. But… they’d had such a good night. He had actually laughed. And it had felt so good. 

And they had set out to get Cas laid, after all. Last night on earth before big brother Raphael got with the smiting and all. That was their plan. It was a good plan. And to be fair, it was kind of Dean’s fault the whole thing had gone to pot. He should have spoken to the working girl first, gotten the basics covered and maybe Cas wouldn’t have been too busy playing psychic healer to actually get his cherry properly popped. 

Cas was a good guy. He didn’t deserve to die a virgin. No consenting adult did, in Dean’s considered opinion. And that damn itch of his…it was a persistent bastard. He’d found a number of new friends to help rub it out, male and female. But it never helped for long. Looking at Castiel made him think of all kinds of interesting things that had nothing to do with hunting archangels. Unless one was into hunting angels while naked. 

Dean glanced over to the other side of the car. Cas was gazing off into the distance, looking at God knew what; maybe the cosmic energies of the universe, or ley lines, maybe nothing at all. 

The dude had literally died for them. The least Dean could do was help a buddy out. That excuse was so flimsy he could use it as a Frisbee, but he made the conscious decision not to overthink it. 

Decision made, Dean drove on a while, looking for a suitably isolated place. It didn’t take long to find a quiet park. It was late, way past curfew; no one would be there. Perfect. He found an hidden corner and parked. 

“Dean?” Cas questioned, finally seeming to notice they’d stopped.

Dean looked levelly at him. “Cas.”

“Why have we stopped the car?”

Dean grinned his most wicked smile, noticing the way the angel’s eyes dilated in response. He’d seen it before, caught signs suggesting that if he made a move it might be well received. But it was always nice to have confirmation. 

“Well, Cas. We set out with a very specific plan. Way I see it, we have not yet accomplished our goal.”

Cas cocked his head. “That is true. But I don’t think we will be welcome back to that brothel in the near future.”

“Agreed. So, we move on to plan B.”

“And plan B involves us alone in a dark park?” Cas asked, though it seemed he was slowly getting the idea. 

“Only if you want it to.” Dean replied, waiting to see if he was going to get shut down or not. Different parts of him wanted each outcome, which was confusing, so he ignored it.

“To be clear, you are offering to…get laid with me?” Cas asked, his tone wary, though it seemed like he was interested. 

Dean chuckled. “More or less. Look, you’re hard to read, man. Sometimes it looks like you’re checking me out, or you could be angelically counting my pulse. I don’t know. So, here it is: are you interested in me or not? Sexually,” he clarified. It was always best to be crystal clear with Castiel.

“Your pulse is currently 89, significantly higher than your baseline resting rate average of 64,” Cas replied. 

Dean rolled his eyes and waited. 

“But, to answer your question, yes. I have been…curious about sex. More so of late. And when I consider it, you are the first person I think of.” 

“Okay then. Good. Awesome. So, we’re gonna do this, yeah?” Great, ten seconds in and it was already awkward. And they hadn’t even kissed. That had to be some kind of record. At the other man’s hesitant nod, Dean blew out a breath.

“Okay. So, anything special you had in mind, Cas?”

“Given that you have more experience in this area, it may be best if you take the lead,” Cas told him cautiously. 

It was said in the same tone as most of his dialogue, cool and deadpan. But his face told a different story. His gaze on Dean was…intense, and he was definitely breathing faster. The angel’s eyes were so radiantly blue they may actually be glowing. Dean took all that as a good sign. And being the object of such intense focus was definitely rubbing him all the right ways. Time to do some rubbing back.

“Alright. Why don’t you hop out? Not enough room up front, really.” He’d managed in the past, but he wanted this to be more than some random quickie.

By the time Dean had gotten out and walked to the other side of the car, Castiel had already emerged and was standing by the door, shifting uncomfortably, a familiar deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. 

“You sure you want to do this?” Dean asked. He didn’t want to pressure his friend. “You know, you don’t have to or anything. And you can change your mind any time.”

“Yes. I’m sure. It’s just, a very new thing for me. I find that I’m inexplicably nervous.”

Dean grinned. Ah. Newbie nerves. He could work with that. While he definitely preferred experienced partners, he’d guided a man or two off the path of righteousness. 

Dean stepped up until there was only a few inches of air between them and rested his hands firmly on Cas’ hips. The angel swallowed.

“Dean. Are there…rules to this interlude? Some sort of protocol?” He made a vaguely frustrated sound. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Dean pressed his pelvis firmly against his friend’s, grinning at the firm hardness welcoming him. “No rules. We’ll take it easy; see if this is even something you like. Training wheels on. What do you think about a blow job?” 

Cas licked his lips. “Alright. Can…am I allowed to touch?”

Dean laughed. “Anywhere you want to, darlin’.” His smile was warm and inviting, specifically designed to put the newbie at ease. “There’s no wrong here; this is supposed to be fun.”

Cas narrowed his gaze, the lost look fading as something far darker emerged in response to the hunter’s teasing laughter. Without warning, he slid a hand between them, slipping nimble fingers into the waistband of Dean’s pants, stroking along the firm cock he found there.

“And you, Dean? Will this be fun for you, too?”

Dean groaned, eyes sliding shut as he thrust his hips into the teasing fingers. “If…if you’re waiting for me to complain, you’re gonna be waiting a while,” he replied, gasping when the angel’s hand gripped his cock as best it could in the confined space.

“That’s good,” Cas told him, eyes gleaming, the hint of satisfaction ghosting along his features. “I wouldn’t want you to become bored.” 

Cas released Dean’s cock so quickly the hunter staggered a bit at the unexpected loss. Before he had time to complain, Cas slid his hands to Dean’s back, thrusting both hands under the fabric of his underwear, taking a firm grip on his ass, molding gently. 

“And here? It’s okay to touch you here, Dean?” The massaging hands pulled the hunter flush against his hips so he could grind their cocks together. 

Dean was panting now. He rested his forehead on the angel’s chest and closed his eyes, reveling in the dual sensations. Blushing virgin, his ass. That damn angel just needed to be sure of his welcome and shy and innocent went right out the fucking window. 

Dean didn’t know where all this confident, teasing attitude was coming from, but he sure wasn’t complaining. It was sexy as hell. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he wondered if Cas would end up wanting to go all the way right now after all, in a dark parking lot, pressing Dean up against the Impala. The encouraging throb his cock made at the thought made it clear he was completely on board with that outcome.

“Are you alright, Dean?” The innocent tone was so laced with smug that Dean decided he had to do something about it. He was not going to be the only one falling apart in this damn parking lot, and he absolutely was not going to come in his pants two minutes in like some green teenager. 

With a momentous amount of willpower that he should get a goddamn medal for, Dean stepped back, away from the perfect frottage he’d been enjoying.

Cas’ hands slid out from Dean’s pants, falling to his sides. “Dean?” Cas asked, his tone reverting back to his initial uncertainty.

“Did I do something?”

“Oh, you did something, alright,” Dean muttered. “Damn near made me blow my load from some basic rubbing. You failed to tell me there was a natural sex kitten hidden under that trench coat.”

“No cats,” Cas dissuaded, though he looked quite pleased with himself. “Just me.” 

“Yeah well, ‘just you’, it’s your turn to have a melt down.” Dean slid gracefully to his knees, pleased to hear the gulp above him. This was something he was particularly skilled at. Time to rock the angel’s world. 

He nimbly worked at the zipper, sliding Cas’ pants and underwear to his knees and baring a very excited cock to the world. Damn, the dude was stacked. Good thing Dean had solid control of his gag reflex; he’d be needing it. 

Cas moved his hands, fingers sliding down Dean’s sides until he gripped the edges of his shirt. “Can I…”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replied absently, leaning in to blow gently against Cas’ cock head. 

The angel hissed at the sensation, straightening up and taking the shirt with him. Dean tilted his head enough to allow the other man to slide it all the way off. He placed his palms flat against the cool metal of the Chevy, framing the angel’s lean hips. 

If Cas wanted him topless for this, he was likely into visuals. Dean was self aware enough to know this pose would make the muscles of his shoulders and biceps tighten nicely, with the added benefit of keeping his target in place. 

Dean didn’t give any warning before opening his mouth and sliding soft lips halfway down Cas’ cock. Time to get this mouth party started. The startled moan his move elicited was extremely satisfying, spurring him on to greater efforts. This was Cas’ first blowjob, and maybe his last. Dean thoroughly intended to make it memorable. 

The cock filling mouth throbbed as he slid his lips along the shaft, taking it slightly deeper with each glide until his nose was tapping pelvis. His tongue slid along the under side, stroking the vein as he did a slow pull, backing away until he slid off entirely. 

He glanced up at Cas, mischief in his green gaze, well aware of the picture he was presenting. On his knees, bare to the waist, his lips pink and shining with saliva, face flushed; if the angel was half the voyeur Dean suspected, he’d be entranced.

Dean had a healthy dose of confidence when it came to blowjobs; but he may actually have underestimated his own skill. Cas was frozen above him, eyes glowing so brightly Dean had to glance to his back to ensure the wings weren’t out. He was breathing hard, mouth open in a gaze of absolute shock. 

“You okay, there, buddy?” Dean asked, swallowing a bit to give his throat a break. 

“I…” Cas struggled for words. Dean waited, hoping he hadn’t broken his friend. 

“What, um, what do I need to say, or do, to get you to keep doing that?” Cas finally stammered out. “Please?” 

Dean chuckled. “Oh, I’m not stopping. Don’t worry your pretty head. I’m just checking in, giving you a minute to cool off. Hate to see you pop your cork this early on.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, the angel power fading from his gaze, though they remained so relentlessly blue they almost hurt to look at. “I’m an angel. I have absolute control of my vessel, I assure you.” 

Oh yeah? Challenge accepted. Dean grinned his most charming grin. “Good to know. Back to business, then.” He leaned back in until his lips just brushed the soft skin of the cockhead. He looked up, locking gazes with the man above him.

“Oh, and Cas?” he asked innocently. The heat of his breath danced along the stimulated flesh, making the angel squirm in him arms. “It’s okay if you want to put your hands on me, you know. Anywhere you want.”

He slid his mouth back onto the angel’s hard cock, working his way all to the base before smoothly gliding back. On the next pass up, he swallowed a bit, applying firm suction. This was an advanced level technique; it required focus and practice.

Hands landed on his shoulders, clutching tight and massaging his bare skin. A glance up without dislodging his mouth showed the angel was back in shock again. Mouth open, panting slightly, eyes glazed over. The view was so ridiculously hot. Encouraged with the response, Dean increased his efforts. 

He knew he was neglecting the tightly wound balls he felt tap his chin with his deeper strokes, but he could only do so much multitasking at once. He’d have to save that for next time. And there would absolutely be a next time. There was no way Dean wasn’t doing this again. He’d just have to ensure Castiel survived his meeting with the ninja turtle angel. Because now that he’d had a taste, Dean wasn’t stopping anytime soon. 

The hands on his shoulder slid up his neck, fingers soft, but applying just a hint of pressure. Cas hands cradled his head, holding gently as Dean worked his mouth in slow, even strokes up his shaft. 

When Dean made no indication of displeasure, Cas hesitantly guided Dean’s head up his shaft. Dean made a sound of encouragement, letting his tongue snake wickedly against the head. There was no way the little virgin angel was about to…

Cas hands took a firm grip, holding Dean’s head still so he could thrust into his mouth, setting a hard, rapid pace right from the jump. 

In the many ways Dean imagined this could go, getting thoroughly mouth-fucked had in no way factored into the picture. Dean consciously loosened his throat, kept his lips tight against Cas cock, and turned control over to his friend. The hands locked on his head were angel-strong; not much Dean could do but relax and enjoy the ride. Not that he’d complain even if he could.

He felt his eyes tearing up at the bruising pace, and he had to swallow continuously in an attempt to keep all the saliva at bay. As it was, he felt it dripping down his chin and knew he looked a mess. Apparently, Cas was into messes, because he thrusts only picked up speed. 

Dean had to close his eyes to focus on controlling his reactions and keeping his teeth out of the way. He wasn’t sure if Cas would be into that, and it was something best discovered later, in a much more relaxed situation and hopefully in an environment that involved four walls and a bed. He slid one hand off the Impala and snaked it between his own legs, unzipping his pants and taking a firm hold on his straining cock through his underwear.

“No!” Cas told him firmly, nudging Dean’s hand away with a foot. “I’ll handle that.” 

Jesus, that tone. It nearly took Dean over the edge right there. It took every ounce of his hard earned self-control to let go of his cock and hold tight against the orgasm that threatened to blow through him. Settling back on his heels, Dean focused on staying relaxed and letting Cas take the wheel. He quickly lost track of time, lost in the immediate here and now of a hard cock sliding fiercely in and out of his mouth, going deep with each thrust. 

Confidence and skill aside, he legitimately wasn’t sure how much of this he could handle. Cas had set a bruising pace from the beginning and gave no indication of slowing down. Dean’s throat was quickly heading towards the wrong side of raw and he’d nearly choked on his own saliva a few times. And if he didn’t get to come very soon he was going to punch something. 

Dean needn’t have worried. Just a few strokes later and Cas thrust deep, his cock buried to the root in Dean’s throat, and stayed there. Dean wasn’t getting enough air, his nose was stopped up from all the fluid and he felt the first dizzying hint that passing out was a very real possibility. He wrapped his hand around the base of Cas cock and squeezed, constricting his throat at the same time. 

Cas groaned and he was coming hard and fast. Dean would have grinned if he could. So much for that angelic absolute control bullshit. Cas emptied himself down Deans throat, gradually softening in his mouth. 

Dean’s body finally gave out and he fell backwards onto his ass, strong arms cradling his head and torso as he was eased gently to the ground. 

“Dean? Dean, are you okay? Dean, I’m sorry. Please talk to me.” 

Fuck. “Easy, tiger,” Dean wheezed. “I’m good. Just a bit whoozy. Need a minute to recover, is all.” His voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel; felt like it too.

He coughed, attempting to clear out the last of the come and saliva he'd been swallowing as best he could. “That was a helluva ride, buddy. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“I didn’t hurt you?” Cas asked, still holding him close, curling Dean against his warm body.

Dean coughed out a genuine laugh, the move making his throat ache. “Did you feel me at any point try to stop you? I have two free hands, you know.” That thought elicited the first hint of other scenarios, and he put a firm halt on that. His neglected cock throbbed its own encouragement. Damn it, he couldn’t take that thing anywhere.

Cas was apparently very in tune to Dean’s physical reactions at the moment. “That looks uncomfortable,” he commented, the hint of a smile in his tone as his eyes focused on the painfully hard erection tenting up through Dean's open jeans. 

Cas reached into Dean’s underwear with the arm not wrapped securely around Dean’s torso and slid his aching cock out into open air. He wrapped nimble fingers firmly around the organ and began stroking.

“Is this right?” He asked, too innocently in Dean’s opinion. Of course, the damn angel could count his pulse and blood pressure at sight, he’d know exactly much of an impact his touch was eliciting. 

“You’re…good there. Just keep doing that.” Dean growled.

“Are you sure? This is my first time, after all.” Cas’ motions slowed to a crawl. “Maybe you should talk me through it.” 

Dean was going to throttle him, no help for it. 

Dean groaned. “Faster Cas. Slide your thumb against the head with your down stroke.” 

“Like this?” Cas asked, his touch perfect, the gentle glide of his thumb against Dean’s glans exactly the way he liked best.

Dean didn’t answer, panting softly, his body gently tucked in Cas lap. He kept his eyes closed, allowing the sensation to build and fill him near to breaking. 

“Cas,” he groaned out, “Please.” 

The other man’s grip tightened on his, no more teasing, nothing but firm strokes intended to take him over the edge. It didn’t take much. One more, another, a third, and Dean was coming. His climax ripped through him, sparks exploding behind his eyelids. He may have briefly passed out. 

Dean came back to full consciousness gradually, aware he was lying on cold, uncomfortable concrete. His throat hurt and he needed a drink badly. He was also more relaxed then he could remember being in what felt like forever. If there’d ever been a time he’d come that hard before, Dean couldn’t remember it. And he’d definitely never passed out before. 

He glanced up. Blue eyes gazed down at him, a soft smile gracing Cas lips. Wow. That look. Dean wasn’t quite sure what to make of the angel’s expression. 

Uncomfortable on multiple levels, Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes clear with a forearm. A bare one. Right. Shirt. He’d need that. He rose unsteadily to his feet, bracing one arm against the impala to stay upright.

“Dean? Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Cas. Just a bit of a sore throat. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want, I promise.” 

He wasn’t sure whether the angel needed to hear that or not, but Dean wanted there to be no misunderstanding between them. He’d thoroughly enjoyed every minute of that unexpected trip. Maybe too much. He needed some distance, time to think. 

“Yes?” Cas asked.

“Yes,” Dean replied firmly. Apparently the angel had needed the assurance. At least Dean’s instincts were intact, because his brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment.

He found his shirt on the hood of the Impala and slid it over his rapidly cooling torso, not bothering to turn in ride-side-in. It wasn’t that warm outside, and he’d worked up quite a sweat, his semi-naked body rapidly chilling in the cool night air. He opened the back door and dug around until he found a bottle of water. He took a deep swallow, relishing in the cooling liquid.

Cas stepped up beside him. Before Dean could ask what the other man was up to, gentle fingers grazed his forehead. The ache in his throat and residual headache vanished. Well, that was convenient. It would be particularly useful for other sex-related aches, Dean’s treacherous mind pointed out. No, no, bad libido, he chastised him evil little brain. No more hot angel-sex for you. At least for now. He’d liked it entirely too much.

“Thanks,” he muttered to Cas. 

The angel nodded. He looked uncertain again. Maybe a little lost. Dean couldn’t have that. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Cas’ mouth, letting his tongue slide gently against lips that parted in welcome. He reached one arm around the angel and pulled him close, his lips dancing against the other man’s.

“We’re good, Cas,” he murmured, brushing his lips one more time against the angel’s before letting go. 

Cas looked better, sliding into the passenger seat while Dean walked around and climbed in behind the wheel. He started the engine and turned the car back in the direction of the dilapidated house they’d made their temporary abode. They had an archangel to catch.

“Dean,” Cas asked a few minutes later. His tone was back to his usual calm, all that heat and need safely buried. 

“Yeah, Cas?” 

“Is there any chance that we might do that again?” Cas glanced over at him. 

Dean raised an eyebrow, meeting the angel’s steady gaze. He grinned wickedly. “Count on it.” 

Because that damn itch, it was already coming back.   
**************


	4. The Other 'Him'.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This, whatever it was between him and Dean. It all seems very complicated.  
And merrily we move along. *Castiel's POV*  
\--------------------

Castiel watched. 

It was what he’d been doing for over a millennia. Interposed with the occasional smiting here and there, of course. A few battles with renegade angels, rogue demons, whatever his Heavenly father required of him. But mostly, he watched.

Even now, with the world on the brink of destruction, he was still watching. Though he was moderately certain this wasn’t quite what God intended. Then again, he was watching over men, so technically he was still following orders. Okay, maybe not men, so much as man. One man.

One frustrating, antagonistic, infuriating, stunningly attractive man. Cas probably shouldn’t be in the Winchester’s motel room uninvited. He believed the humans called it stalking. But how else was he to ensure that his target stayed safe? And if said target was naked and wet under a showerhead, well, humans did spend an inordinate amount of time bathing. 

Statistically, Dean had a remarkable habit of dying in unexpected ways. Providing adequate protection required a great deal of dedication on Castiel’s part. Even when he left the Winchester’s side to travel the world, he kept an ear open for the hunter’s heart rate, the low, steady beat a soothing background sound for when he had to be away.

He stood, silent and invisible in the bathroom while Dean took his sweet time under the steamy water. How long did it really take one human to get clean? It wasn’t as if the man was fresh from a hunt; he had no dried blood or caked dirt that needed to be so meticulously scrubbed away. 

Dean had his head tilted up toward the showerhead, eyes closed, hair slicked back while the powerful spray sluiced down his naked body, combining to form rivulets of sparkling water. Castiel watched, fascinated as the delicate drops coalesced into a shallow stream, gliding down into the indentations and crevices of Dean’s muscular body in a way that was surprisingly enticing. 

Castiel remembered the one remarkable taste he’d had of this human with crystal clarity. Even one had been far too much. If angels could become addicted, his drug of choice was surely Dean Winchester. 

Castiel had never imagined he’d be jealous of water. It was an inanimate collection of molecules that moved in accordance with the demands of gravity. There was nothing sentient for him to bear ill will towards. But he found he envied those glittering beads that slid down the powerful chest, gliding sensually down parts of a body that haunted him. He wanted to be in the place of those drops; touching, tracing the intricacies of Dean’s body with his fingers. Perhaps even his tongue. And wasn’t that an odd thought for an angel?

He shouldn’t be here. This was inappropriate; he knew that. But he found himself unable to step away. 

This was ridiculous. It had been 26 minutes. Did Dean really need to be in the shower this long? Perhaps Castiel should damage the water-heating device. If Dean had only cold water available then surely he’d get out, wouldn’t he? Castiel was fairly certain that it wasn’t healthy for a human to be under such hot water for so long. As Dean’s guardian, Castiel had an obligation to protect him from these types of risks.

Which, he was aware, was complete and utter crap. But before he could further analyze the situation, Dean reached out and turned off the water. Finally. He stepped out, reaching for a towel and began drying himself, the forest green fabric stroking down a muscular chest, dipping intimately between his powerful thighs. The fabric slid around his hips to his back, cupping the perfect swell of what was a truly masterful ass, each buttock taut and rounded. Castiel clenched his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to touch, his treacherous mind quick to replay what it had felt like to grip the firm muscles of Dean's ass in both hands as he pulled the hunter's hips flush against his own.

Castiel had miscalculated; Dean getting out of the shower was hardly an improvement. But Dean was safely out of the hot spray. Castiel should vacate the hotel, leave the human to finish drying and garb himself. Even Dean was unlikely to sustain a grievous injury pulling on a pair of jeans.

But, then again, he could slip. The tile was very wet and Dean had no traction; it was best that Castiel stay a little longer just to be sure. Dean apparently took the drying process as seriously as he did showering; the circular motions along his body unnecessarily thorough in Castiel’s opinion. 

Whatever Dean was thinking about, it must be a pleasant thought; Castiel reflected. Dean had a slight smile his face, green eyes sparkling with some inner knowledge. As if there was a joke in there somewhere that only Dean was privy to.

An eternity later, Dean apparently decided he was sufficiently dry and wrapped the too small towel low around his hips. He bowed his head, gaze focused on the towel as he tucked the corners in to keep the fabric in place.

“You know,” Dean said aloud, apparently to the towel. He spoke in a normal volume, nowhere near loud enough to reach his brother far on the other half of the hotel by the door. 

“Next time, you could just hop in with me. Not that I’m opposed to putting on a show from time to time, but trust me on this, interactive is always better.”

Dean looked up, his eyes casting around the empty room, his smile teasing.

Castiel stood stock still, frozen in place. There was absolutely no way Dean could have detected him; he was completely invisible to all human senses. Castiel realized he felt inexplicably guilty. He reminded himself he was just doing his due diligence; there was nothing untoward in his behaviour.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Catch you next time I’m feeling dirty, Cas.”

Dean strode out of the shower in that tiny towel, barking something moderately offensive at his brother, laughing when Sam raised a middle finger at him without bothering to look up from the screen of his computer.

Castiel stood within the bathroom, the foggy remnants of rapidly cooling air swirling around and through him. What in the very real Hell had just happened? How had Dean detected his presence? Did he owe the man an apology? Dean didn’t seem particularly offended. 

These were importance concerns, but Castiel found he had a difficult time focusing; his mind intent on recalling those tendrils of water. He remembered their path with perfect clarity, the way the drops splashed against a firm chest, dripping off a perfect pink nipple, trailing down a powerfully built chest to the hunter’s waist, forming a stream to his hips and trailing down the dip of his groin. Dean’s cock had been half hard; Castiel couldn’t help but recall what that silky hardness felt like in his hand. 

He wanted to touch it again so badly it felt like a compulsion. 

Next time, Dean had said. That had been an invitation; Castiel was almost certain of it. Dean really did shower a lot. It would be so easy to shed the clothing covering his own body and step into the hot water with the hunter. Raise his hands and touch the heated flesh; see if it was as smooth and firm as he remembered.

For the first time Castiel truly understood the insidious call of temptation. And he wasn’t at all sure he was strong enough to resist. Or if he even wanted to. 

Next time.


	5. Welcome to Next Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is ready to take Dean up on his standing offer. He just has to figure out how. And as he learned from Sam Winchester, when in doubt, there's always research. 
> 
> (Pre-smut, just some sillyness).

Castiel had been alive for a very, very long time. Eons, possibly more. Time as a construct was fairly new, cosmically speaking.

He’d learned a number of valuable lessons during that existence, developed tools that had served him in good stead when faced with an unknown challenge or adversary. When you are as old as the planet, you experience a lot of firsts.

This experience taught him, that when facing a new challenge, it was best to gain as much information as possible ahead of time. He’d also learned that you could not always cherry-pick where this learning came from. Sometimes you had to have dealings with dubious sources; a necessary evil, as it were. 

And all that experience and knowledge led him here. The Angel of the Lord, Soldier, feared and respected among his peers glared menacingly at the computer before him. The device appeared unimpressed. At least, that was the conclusion Castiel drew when the thing indifferently bounced the image of a multifaceted little colored ball around the screen.

He glanced around at the myriad of humans patronizing the busy library. Perhaps it was better if he go back to books, more familiar ground for him. But he’d been told the device before him was the greatest repository of human knowledge in existence. Surely it would be the best place to find what he sought.

Tentatively, he rested his hands on the keyboard. Nothing changed. Looking surreptitiously at the man next to him, he moved one hand to the little corded triangle to the right of the keyboard. The bouncing ball disappeared, revealing a single flat coloured screen with a string of icons. A tiny white arrow rested in the center of the open space. A nudge and a little arrow went winging across the screen. Castiel had no idea how this was useful.

“Do you need a hand?” A voice asked kindly from behind him. A middle age human female smiled politely. She wore a deep blue oversized sweater with a cat drinking coffee on it; a badge pinned to her shirt identified her as an employee of the library. 

“Yes. I wish to do research on this device. I’m not sure how to instruct it to give me the information I need.”

“Not so great with computers, huh?” She asked. “I can help. What are you trying to look up, exactly?” She leaned over him and placed a hand over the little device that controlled the arrow, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“I need to know the proper procedures and skills necessary in order to safely engage in penetrative anal sex with a human male,” he replied, looking expectantly at the screen. Despite his clearly stated query, the screen remained still. 

The man at the computer next to him suddenly made a choking sound, spitting a mouthful of latte into the air. Castiel glanced over, watching the man attempt to wipe coffee droplets off the screen with a paper napkin while continuing to make that choked sound. Humans were so odd. 

Dismissing the male when it was clear he wasn’t any genuine distress, Castiel turned back to the librarian. The woman appeared frozen, her fingers motionless on the keyboard. 

“I..ah, I don’t think a public library computer is the proper place for that type of research,” she stammered. “Maybe that’s better done in your own home?” 

Before Castiel could inform her that he had no home, she all but ran the other direction.

“Prude,” the man sitting next to him commented loudly at the retreating woman’s back. He rolled his eyes, turning to face Castiel with a smile. 

“I’m Sebastian. C’mon, Hot Stuff, let’s go across the street, get a coffee together and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” 

“My name is Castiel. You have experience in this topic?” Castiel asked, rising to follow Sebastian.

“Oh, darling. Four wonderful collegiate years worth. I may have gotten a degree in PolySci, but between you and me, I majored in Sluttery.” 

Castiel wasn’t sure what either of those things was, but Sebastian seemed infinitely more knowledgeable than an obstinate screen that blinked at him. 

“Castiel, huh? Odd name,” the man commented lightly as they crossed the street to a small coffee house. 

Sebastian procured coffees for both them, regular drip when Castiel wasn’t sure what drink he should have. Drinks in hand, they settled across from each other on one of the comfortable corner couches in the corner of the shop.

“Okay,” Sebastian began, taking a cautious sip of his steaming beverage. “First things first. I have to ask, are you asking with anyone particular in mind or are you just expanding your mind?” He looked hopefully at Castiel.

“There is someone specific I’d like to apply to knowledge with, yes.”

“So, boyfriend, huh? Of course you’d be taken. Can’t blame a guy for wondering.” Sebastian winked. 

Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of that. He and Dean weren’t ‘boyfriends’ as far as he knew the term to mean. They had made no promises to each other and Dean was still having frequent sex with women. Though, Castiel had not noted him ‘picking up’ a male since they’d been sexually intimate. Did that mean something to humans?

“I’m not going to ask how someone as lovely as your sweet self has gone this long without going all the way, it’s not my business,” Sebastian told him. “Though I won’t lie, I’m curious as hell.”

“I’m an angel,” Castiel replied. Not many of his kind indulged in sex, it was definitely a taboo among their species. “It’s never been an issue before now.”

Sebastian guffawed, laughing brightly. “No argument here, gorgeous. So, this guy must be something special, huh.”

“He is,” Castiel agreed. “In all of humanity’s history, I’ve never seen anything like him.”

“Oh, for a photo. Well, good for you. And him, for that matter. Okay, I’ll just do the whole 101 with you, and if at any point you have questions, feel free. No questions are taboo.”

Castiel leaned forward, listening intently. This was better than he’d hoped. Actual, practical knowledge from an experienced human. 

“First things first; are you thinking your special friend is a top or bottom?”

“I don’t understand the question,”

“You know? Pitcher and catcher? Do-er, Do-ee?” The man sighed at Castiel’s blank look. “This may take a while. “With women, there’s an established norm; peg to hole, yes?”

“Men have penis’ while women have vaginas. I’m aware of basic human anatomy,” Castiel told him, slightly annoyed.

Sebastian chuckled. “Okay, Kindergarten Cop. While there are countless delightful variations, yes, that’s heterosexual sex at its most basic. Role establishment is slightly more complicated with men. Two pegs, two holes. With me?”

“Yes.” Mostly.

“Excellent. One would be the ‘top’ if they were the do-er, the man who will be doing the penetrating. Also called ‘pitcher’ if you are into sports metaphors.” 

Seeing Castiel’s blank look, Sebastian sighed and ploughed on. “The ‘bottom’ is the one who will be taking it up the ass.”

Ah. That made sense. They were finally making progress.

“Now, that’s just a base description of physical positions. It has nothing to do with dominant, or submissive behaviors, no matter what one may think. Plenty of men on the receiving side are as tough as it comes; they simply like what they like. You may hear the phrase ‘pushy bottom’ with this type of person. Now, that can be fun. It can also be aggravating as hell,” Sebastian added, rolling his eyes with a fond smile.

If Dean was willing to be on the receiving end of penetration, he would definitely be a ‘pushy bottom,’ Castiel decided. 

“So. Do you know which way your man rolls?” Sebastian asked. 

“I know that he has had sex with men in both of the positions you’ve described,” Castiel told him. “I’m not sure what his preference is, though. We haven’t discussed it.”

“A switch?” Sebastian asked brightly. “Go you! Twice the fun. How about you, duckie? Which way do you think you’d swing?”

Castiel considered it. This was so complicated. It’s a wonder humans managed to successfully breed at all with so many things to consider. 

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I think it would be prudent to try both, see which, if either, I find preferable?” 

“You two,” Sebastian said with a dreamy sigh. “Colour me jealous.” He cocked his head. 

“You don’t have a picture of your intended, by any chance. Not to be nosy or anything, but I totally am.”

Castiel saw no reason not to comply with the request. He had a cellphone and it took pictures. Surely there were a few that featured Dean on them.

He flipped through the captured images, realizing there were far more than ‘a few’ photos of Dean on his phone. Strange. He didn’t remember deliberately taking so many. Though Dean was extremely photogenic. Finally he settled on one he’d taken from a side view of Dean leaning over the open hood of his vehicle, slightly dirty and oil smeared. Castiel had taken it with the intention of keeping a picture of the Winchester’s vehicle on hand, should he need assistance in finding it sometime. But he seemed to have cut off the majority of the Impala, the image focusing almost entirely on Dean instead. Odd. 

He showed the picture to Sebastian. The man’s eyes widened and he went uncharacteristically silent. After long enough that Castiel was beginning to worry, the man shook his himself. He whistled softly. “Oh. My. God.” 

Sebastian looked up, appraising Castiel with his gaze. “Nope. Not possible. It’s not safe. That much beautiful, sexy goodness together? The universe may implode.”

Castiel frowned. “I assure you, sex alone would not cause that. But if it would make you feel more secure, I can tell you that he gave me a very thorough blow job against that car a month ago and the world did not deviate from its course.”

Sebastian choked, once again expelling coffee. “A bluh..bluh…aga…against the car? That car?” Sebastian seemed to have temporarily broken again. Castiel waited. 

“Yes. It was an excellent experience. So you can understand why I’m seeking information for furthering our sexual relationship.”

Sebastian looked at him incredulously. “He looks like that, gives excellent, thorough blow jobs, and that hunk of giant, muscle-bound, sexy mechanic is a switch hitter? Darling, take my advice; you should be shopping for diamonds about now. Seriously. Put a damn ring around it.” 

Castiel wasn’t sure what had Sebastian so excited, but if he was thinking matrimony, Castiel wasn’t certain that interspecies marriages were actually a thing. And he really didn’t think Dean was the marrying type, anyway. 

Sebastian reluctantly handed the phone back. “Okay. Okay. I see now why I was put on this earth. It was to give you the education you need to screw the ever-loving fuck out of that burning hunk of man-meat. Hopefully, many, many times.”

He leaned forward. ‘Okay, first rule. Lube is your friend. You can literally never use too much…”

\------------------------  
Castiel stood invisibly in the Winchester’s hotel. This was one of the nicer ones; the smell was reminiscent of sandalwood rather than wet dog, and the furniture matched the walls, more or less. Sam was out; he’d gone to get supplies and dinner. Between that and the fact that he’d need to fix the spontaneous flat tire on his stolen vehicle, Castiel knew he’d be gone two hours at least. Plenty of time.

He strode to the bathroom door. Hints of steam drifted from under the closed door and he heard Dean moving about inside. Castiel reached into the pocket of his coat, hand closing around a bottle of lubricant, the kind Sebastian had recommended. It was the extra large size; you could never have too much lube. 

This was a good time. Nothing overtly dangerous lay within miles of the motel. Sam and Dean were both reasonably safe and in good health. 

Now he just had to move. That was all. Open the door, walk inside, and announce his request to further his sexual education. Dean had told him he was invited, after all. 

Taking a deep breath, although technically he didn’t need to breathe, Castiel reached for the knob, opened the door and stepped inside.


End file.
